


baby blues

by schittyfic (sixtysevenlmpala)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Begging, Blow Jobs, Coitus Interruptus, Dirty Talk, Episode: s04e02 Pregnancy Test, First Time, Identity, M/M, Panties, Patrick Brewer is HUNG, Patrick Brewer is Thirsty, Porn with Feelings, Thirsty Bottom Patrick Brewer, a TEENSY bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29522625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixtysevenlmpala/pseuds/schittyfic
Summary: “Sometimes I don’t wear, uh, boxers. Or briefs.”David’s eyes flash. “Excuse me, are you telling me you’re goingcommandoin our store?”Our store. Patrick tamps down a giddy smile. “Not commando.”“Well then, what - oh.” David shimmies with delight, stalking closer and dancing his fingertips up Patrick’s arms to his shoulders. “Patrick Brewer, whatareyou wearing?”
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 84
Kudos: 326





	baby blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spiffymittens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiffymittens/gifts).



> HAPPIEST OF (belated) BIRTHDAYS TO SPIFFYMITTENS!!! You are a good egg and an absolute gift to this fandom.
> 
> I apologise that this is delayed, but I hope I squeezed enough jams in here to make up for it.
> 
> Special thanks to midnightstreet for the hand-holding!
> 
> 💛

*

Patrick has always thought of himself as a professional guy. He likes rules, and he’s always found more success by following them.

That’s why he’s surprised to find himself pinned against the wall by his business-partner-turned-guy-he-kissed-and-has-since-been-kissing-a-lot, in his place of work, a mere week after he himself instated a ‘no fooling around at work’ rule. 

Two separate customers having to witness him hurrying behind the counter to hide his denim-clad hard-on was two too many.

Right now, though, he just cannot for the life of him think of _why_ it’s so important to keep their hands off each other at work. David’s mouth is hot and insistent, and his own lips feel numb with how much they’ve kissed.

Should he be concerned that they’ve been back here for this long and no one’s walked into the store?

Probably. He’ll look at the numbers later.

“Fuck, David,” he whispers, jamming his hands into the back pockets of David’s skirted pants and pulling him closer, like nothing’s ever going to be close enough. Stupid Ray, stupid motel, stupid Patrick’s car being far too small to do anything exciting.

“Mm. What do you want?” David breathes against his cheek, his hips settling into a mind-numbing grind against Patrick’s. It’s the same question he always asks, because for all his snarky taunting and his bafflingly concrete belief that he’s a terrible person, he’s been nothing but respectful of Patrick’s need to _go slow_.

Right now, Patrick doesn’t feel slow. His pulse is thundering in his veins and pounding in his ears, every nerve ending attuned to the man towering over him as Patrick slumps against the wall.

“Touch me,” he asks, and David gives him a sweet, soft smile, even as his fingers are tearing at the stubbornly tight fastenings on Patrick’s jeans. 

“I like hearing you ask for what you want.” The words settle warm and heavy in Patrick’s chest, something affirming in the way David creates this space for him so easily, where he can explore and experiment and, for the first time, feel confident in his own voice.

David mutters a few curses under his breath, alongside a snatch of _fucking ridiculously tight, how do you even get these on_ \- but finally yanks his belt open and his zipper down, and then.

Then, Patrick remembers.

“Oh --” Patrick manages, shoving at David’s chest in panic. David stumbles, wide-eyed as his chin retreats back into his neck in a somewhat offended expression.

“Um. Okay. Did I misinterpret the words ‘touch me’?”

“No! No. No, I want that. I just.” Patrick sighs shortly, feeling heat creep up his neck and bloom over his cheeks. David’s eyes are piercing but warm all at once; as if he can see right through him, right to the very core of everything Patrick’s used to hiding. “I felt like I should… warn you?”

David blinks. “You know I’ve seen your dick, right? Like, several times. You don’t need to warn me about anything.” His lips twitch. “I mean, a _caution_ about the fucking monster in your pants might have been polite, but I enjoyed that surprise.”

Patrick’s definitely blushing now. He never _blushed_ before David; he’d go red occasionally when a big presentation wasn’t going well, or when he grew frustrated by a recipe that just wouldn’t work out. It was never this silly, flustered thing. It’s… new. Different. He likes it, but it makes him feel off-kilter, like David could purse his pretty lips and blow, and Patrick would teeter and fall.

“Do I have to guess?”

“No. Um.” Patrick raises his eyes to the ceiling and fixes them on the questionable stain on one of the tiles. “Sometimes I don’t wear, uh, boxers. Or briefs.”

David’s eyes flash. “Excuse me, are you telling me you’re going _commando_ in our store?”

Our store. Patrick tamps down a giddy smile. “Not commando.”

“Well then, what - oh.” David shimmies with delight, stalking closer and dancing his fingertips up Patrick’s arms to his shoulders. “Patrick Brewer, what _are_ you wearing?”

Patrick’s lips are dry. He wets them with his tongue, and David follows the movement. “Panties,” he whispers, closing his eyes.

The silence drags on long enough that Patrick is good and ready for the floor to swallow him up. All he can hear are David’s shallow breaths, each one a puff of warmth washing over Patrick’s lips. When he cracks a wary eye open, he’s confronted with a look he hasn’t seen on David’s face yet.

Patrick likes uncovering more and more David-faces as time goes on, as they find new ways to wind each other up or take each other apart. So far, the _David-coming-because-I-made-him_ face is his favourite - all screwed-up tension right up until his features smooth out and melt into a blissful, breathless smile. But this, this look of pure intrigue underscored by an impressed little smirk - that’s definitely up there. It makes Patrick feel brave.

“Mmm, you really do pack a lot of surprises into those mid-range jeans, don’t you?” David’s fingers are back at his waistband, gently tracing the teeth of his open zipper, but not delving inside. “Like a li’l present ready to unwrap.”

“Taking slight offence to ‘li’l’,” Patrick chuckles, threading his fingers into David’s hair as David trails his lips along his jaw.

“You know you’ve got a big dick, don’t make me pander to you,” David murmurs in his ear, and Patrick shivers. “How does that thing even fit into a pair of panties? You must be popping right out of them all day.”

“They’re - they’re made for men. They have - uh - room?” Patrick can’t believe he’s actually telling David any of this. Can’t believe David’s fingertips are grazing just shy of the satin beneath his jeans. He’s never even conceived of sharing this with anyone.

He didn’t think much of it when he picked them out this morning, lifting up his neatly folded boxers and socks to get to the back-left corner of his underwear drawer. According to his meticulous spreadsheet, he now owns seven different pairs; four cotton, two lace, one satin. He chose the satin today. They’re baby blue with delicate white lace detailing, and they happen to have scored an 8/10 for comfort, and a 9/10 for practicality (unlike the lace, which is beautiful enough that he can't help admiring himself in the mirror when he puts it on, but itches something crazy when he tries to wear it all day).

Since he left everything behind, there’s been this… pull, deep in his gut, tugging at his buttoned-up exterior and telling him to turn it inside out. He ran to a town where no one knew him, the suffocating expectations and ideals he’d always assumed were inevitable falling at the wayside. Suddenly, it didn’t seem so scary to go to those websites he’d often browsed late at night and shrouded in shame, to actually click ‘buy’ and chase an instinct for the first time in his life.

Alongside comfort and practicality, and a few other basics (durability, washability, fit, price, value for money), there’s the last column: confidence.

This pair scores the highest there, but really, the ratings are quite positively skewed.

Patrick knows what he looks like. He’s moderately attractive, in a generic, guy-next-door kind of way; his haircut takes five minutes and no explanation at the barber, and sometimes, even he can’t tell the difference between the shirts hanging in his closet. Walking around with a secret which he knows would shock anyone who knew - there’s something powerful about it. It’s thrilling, breaking the mould in this private way, even if he’s the only one who sees. He holds himself taller, feels settled and calm in himself like he never has before.

“Did you wear them for me?” David’s asking, and Patrick struggles to resurface from his thoughts. He must look kind of spaced, because David’s using that kind, soothing tone he breaks out when Patrick seems like he’s on the edge of folding in on himself.

“I - no,” Patrick admits, then cringes, because _great,_ Brewer, way to kill the mood.

But David’s not offended. All he says is, “For you?” and Patrick nods, and David kisses him, deep and thorough.

“It’s not - I just like the way they feel. The way they make me feel. I feel good when I wear them.” Patrick’s not doing well establishing this as _not_ a sex thing.

David shushes him, popping another button on his shirt and then sliding his hands down to the hem and pushing it upwards, like he can’t decide where he wants to be. Patrick wants him everywhere. His palms are fiery-hot on Patrick’s skin, and when he rubs over his nipples, Patrick whines. “You don’t have to explain it to me,” David says. For a moment, Patrick has no idea what they’re talking about.

“Do you still wanna - um.” Patrick rolls his shoulders back minutely, looking David in the eye and harnessing some of that power that he knows is inside him somewhere. “I want to show you.”

“Mhm, fuck _yes_ ,” David laughs, and both of their hands are scrabbling at Patrick’s jeans, David triumphant in shoving them down to his thighs. He sinks downwards too, getting to his knees with a wince at the hard floor, and then he’s just - staring.

Patrick chews on his lip, watching David watching him, his breath caught in his throat. David delicately traces the edging around his thighs and the two vertical lines of lace which decorate the front of the panties. There’s a neat little bow at the waistband, right where the head of Patrick’s cock pokes out of the top, shining and pink.

“Thought you said they had room?” David smirks.

“They do, I’m just not usually…” Patrick trails off on a gasp as David circles a fingertip around the very tip of his dick. He hums, tucking him in diagonally so he’s completely covered, then sits back on his heels to admire. 

“That is the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Patrick’s thighs are trembling, and David’s barely touched him. He can’t imagine the version of himself six months ago allowing anyone to see him so vulnerable; hell, even three weeks ago. Sometimes, he wonders if kissing David in his car that night opened some kind of portal to this dimension where everything is exactly the same, except he can finally live.

“I have to say I’m impressed. Maybe you have a little more taste than I gave you credit for, with those Walmart three-for-one polyester nightmares.” David plucks at the edges of his shirt with distaste.

“I like splashing out on nice things, on occasion.” Patrick smiles softly, cupping David’s face and stroking his stubble. David leans in without breaking the eye contact, pressing a gentle kiss to the white bow, just shy of his dick. Patrick gulps audibly.

“Turn around, let me see the back.”

Patrick stumbles, jeans around his knees. He’s not sexy at all right now, but he _feels it_. With David’s gaze hot on him, he has no idea why he never connected this with sex.

“Oh my _god_.” David’s voice is awed and breathy, and Patrick leans folded arms against the wall and arches into the two big hands squeezing his ass.

They ride up high on his cheeks - something called a Brazilian cut? - and Patrick knows his ass is on display right now, crowned with an identical white bow to one at the front. There’s a coy little cut-out with criss-cross detailing over it, his crack peeking out from beneath. His hips are rocking of their own accord, but the wall is too far away, so his dick is just sliding minutely inside the cool fabric, and it’s insanely good. “God,” he chokes out, “David, please do something.”

“Mm-hmm, I’m going to. What do you want?”

That question again. Patrick hesitates only for a second, his answer right there on the tip of his tongue. It’s been dancing there since two nights ago, when David kissed down his body and mouthed wetly at his boxers, only for Ray to knock briskly on the steamy windows of Patrick’s car with a _Patrick! You didn’t tell me you were bringing a guest home!_ “Get your mouth on me, suck me.”

“Oh my _god_ yes, thank fuck,” David groans, all gruff and deep and _fuck_ Patrick’s leaking into the satin. He hopes that’ll wash out. They’re only a 3/10 on washability; he has to hand-soak them, and that’s a whole thing.

All thoughts of fabric care fly out of his head the moment David spins him around, shoves him into the wall and seals his lips around the head of his dick, _through_ the fucking panties. He sucks slow and deliberate, gazing up at Patrick with those thick lashes of his, as one hand cups his balls. “ _Fuuuuuck_ ,” Patrick groans, and David grins, delighted.

 _“Patrick._ That is the first bad word I’ve ever heard you say!”

“Keep doing that and you’ll get a whole l-lot more,” Patrick stammers, steadying his hands on David’s shoulders as David smirks and noses at his dick, licking up the length of it and leaving open-mouthed kisses all over. The fabric grows wetter and wetter, clinging to every ridge and vein of his dick, oversensitive in the best way. If this wasn't a sex thing before, it definitely is now. It can be both, right? “David, c’mon - we don’t have time --”

“Mm, but I like seeing you squirm,” David says, very seriously, his eyes glittering. “You’re making a real mess of these, y’know. I hope they came with washing instructions.”

Patrick laughs, giddy and with a frightening rush of affection. “Let me worry about that.”

David arches an eyebrow and peels back the darkened satin, just enough that most of his cock is freed, his balls still snugly encased. His cock slaps straight up against the tails of his shirt, and he fumbles to tug it out of the way, desperate to remove any and all barriers to finally having David’s lips wrapped around him. “Yeah, hold it up, I wanna see your pretty panties. This shade really suits you. You look gorgeous.”

Patrick twitches his hips forward, his heart fluttering uncertainly at these words he's not used to being treated to. David leans in, a breath away.

“Ready?” he asks smugly. A moment ago, Patrick thought he couldn't possibly be readier - but the question suddenly makes him feel like he’s about to get on the wildest rollercoaster of his life.

He nods.

David swallows him down like it’s nothing, more than halfway, and Patrick shouts out loud before he remembers to clamp a hand over his mouth. Holy fuck, holy _fuck_ David’s good at this, and he’s _just getting started_. “David,” he moans, but it’s muffled behind his hand, and David somehow smirks around his dick, looks him dead in the eye as he hollows his cheeks. Patrick gives up on the hand-over-mouth thing, then. “Oh god - Jesus, I thought about this so much.”

David’s bobbing his head in such a nice rhythm, but he pulls off then, shimmying his shoulders. “Oh? What else have you thought about?”

“Uh.” Patrick’s brain short-circuits. What _hasn’t_ he thought about? Also why is David’s mouth not on his dick?

“You can tell me. I would _love_ to hear what fantasies you have rattling around in that gorgeous head while I choke on this big cock of yours.”

Patrick moans, tipping his head backwards and unwittingly thrusting into David’s waiting mouth. David moves with him like he’s expecting it, his fingers squeezing encouragingly at Patrick’s hips as he curls his tongue around him. “I - I don’t know --” Patrick hates how tongue-tied he is. The words spill so freely from David’s lips. When his mouth isn’t _stuffed full_ of Patrick’s dick, holy God. “I think about _everything_ , David.”

“Mmm,” David hums interestedly around his cock, then pulls off and jacks him firmly as he holds his gaze. “Let’s simplify, then. What’s top of your list?”

Easy.

Instantly, Patrick blurts, “You inside me,” and he has to squeeze his eyes shut, because he’s only admitted that to himself recently. He wasn’t prepared for how it would sound out loud, shaped by his own voice.

“Oh my god. Really? Oh my god.” David stares at him, one hand darting between his legs and under the weird piece of fabric Patrick doesn’t understand. “Fuck yes. I wanna fuck you so bad, Patrick.”

“Yeah,” Patrick breathes out, and it trails off into a low moan as David sucks him down again. 

Patrick pries his eyes open to watch the bulge of his dick filling David's mouth, his thumb pressing into the dip of his cheek to feel the dirty slide, then tracing David’s stretched lips and smearing around the wetness that’s gathered there. David hums, takes him deeper, then cocks an expectant eyebrow at him, waiting patiently as his throat flutters around the tip of Patrick’s cock. He dimly remembers what David wanted to hear, and _God_ he’ll do anything to keep this going. His toes are curling inside his goddamn boots.

“I - I’ve tried it - with my fingers, when I think about you, _ohgod_ it feels so good but I just wish it was your dick every _fucking_ time,” he pants. He’s never spoken like this in his life. He’s also never been this hard.

David moans encouragingly, his shoulder shifting as he rubs himself. He starts rolling Patrick’s balls in time with the bobs of his head, lets them slide around in the satin and it’s _so good_.

“God, David, _David_ \--”

“Keep going,” David rasps, barely sucking in a breath before he’s taking him in again.

“I - I want - I want you to --” 

He falters. He's not good at this. But David’s mouth slows on his dick, and it’s just enough for Patrick to whine pathetically and let go of any last shreds of shyness. 

“Oh god _please_ David I want you to fuck me, I want you to get on top of me and spread my legs and put your f-fingers in me and - and your - _holy shit_ \- please please put your dick inside me, I wanna know what it feels like, I’ve wanted it for so long--”

David’s groaning and drooling and, true to his word, choking on Patrick’s cock now - he can’t get him down all the way, but it’s damn impressive - and then his hands are sliding up to Patrick’s ass, squeezing possessively and then sneaking one thumb inwards, teasing closer and closer until he presses against --

“Oh my god oh my god _oh my god_ ,” Patrick keens, shaking between David’s mouth and his thumb rubbing sweet circles _right_ against his hole, the silky fabric slipping and gliding over him.

David seems to know when he’s about to come better than he knows himself, because he pulls back smoothly, resting his tip on the flat of his tongue and jacking him until he shoots right into his mouth. Before he’s even done, David tucks him quickly back into the panties, dives in and _sucks his balls_ through them, and Patrick trembles and whimpers as he makes even more of a mess in them. He barely registers it; he thinks he might actually be seeing stars.

“Holy fucking shit fuck,” David mutters, stumbling to his feet and slamming their mouths together in a filthy kiss.

“Let me - God, that was amazing - let me,” he breathes, and David nods a thousand times as Patrick fumbles with his mysterious pants.

“You want me to fuck you, hm?” David gasps, rocking against Patrick’s hand, because he still can’t get the fucking fastening open. David’s slick lips find his pulse point and bite softly, and Patrick helplessly tilts his head as he sucks firmly on that sensitive spot. “So thirsty for it all you can think about is me sliding my cock inside you, even while you’re getting your dick sucked. You are so - _mm_ \- you’re gonna be so perfect when I give it to you.”

If Patrick could get hard again, he would. Instead, he just focuses on the pants. He thinks he’s almost there, there’s just a little --

“Ding ding.”

They both pull back, exchanging equally horrified looks.

Oh, right, yeah. They’re in the store. In the middle of a Friday.

“That’s Stevie! That is Stevie!” David hisses, his eyes wild as he frantically flattens his hair.

“Yes, David, I can hear that.”

“Well _you_ can’t go out there, look at you!”

David sounds accusatory, and Patrick has to stifle a laugh. “It’s _your_ fault I look like this.”

“Specifics,” David stage-whispers dramatically, but he’s begrudgingly tugging his _Parisien_ sweater back into place and scrubbing the residual wetness from around his mouth. He’s lucky he’s wearing a... skirt-pant-hybrid-thing.

As David ducks around the curtain to deal with Stevie, Patrick takes a moment to glance down at himself. Rumpled shirt, soaked underwear, jeans around his thighs. He has to admit, David does look objectively more put together. 

Goddamn. He just had his first blowjob from a guy. From _David_.

He also just asked a guy to fuck him, for the first time in his life.

And the world is still turning.

Patrick grins as he scrambles to tug his jeans up and straightens his shirt. The panties feel gross, and he’s pretty sure no amount of hand-soaking is going to save them. He can always splash out on another pair. Maybe, he can let himself have whatever he damn well wants.

As he heads out to share in their joint embarrassment, it occurs to Patrick that he might need to add a few new columns to his spreadsheet.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please feel free to leave a kudos/comment if you liked, I love hearing from you guys.
> 
> 💛


End file.
